


Weatherman

by DoctorQui



Series: walking 'cross the campus [9]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, M/M, Minor Injuries, Mosh Pits, Punk Hanzo Shimada, concert fic, like 90 percent of this fic is just jesse being Gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 13:13:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11253675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorQui/pseuds/DoctorQui
Summary: "Truth was, Jesse had never been to a concert before. Oh sure, he’d seen school recitals and went on that band trip to the local music festival in 8th grade, but he’d never been to what he would consider a proper concert, let alone a high-energy punk concert downtown on a Tuesday. He liked to consider himself the adventurous sort, but this was extremely unfamiliar territory."





	Weatherman

If Jesse had to read one more paragraph on the exploits of William Marshall, he was going to scream. 

 

It wasn’t that his history reading was boring--it was actually immensely interesting--but rather that he was nervous. Tight-chested, short of breath, unable to focus on the thought of hundreds of medieval knights crashing together in a bloody melée. Nervous. By all sorts of logic, he shouldn’t be: he and Hanzo had been on plenty of dates before, this one was no different. Well, it was a little different. Very different. 

 

He was fucked. 

 

Truth was, Jesse had never been to a concert before. Oh sure, he’d seen school recitals and went on that band trip to the local music festival in 8th grade, but he’d never been to what he would consider a proper concert, let alone a high-energy punk concert downtown on a Tuesday. He liked to consider himself the adventurous sort, but this was  _ extremely  _ unfamiliar territory.  

 

Genji wasn’t much help either. His roommate was sitting upright in his bed, thoroughly absorbed in what appeared to be the world’s most intense game of Solitaire. Jesse would be impressed by his focus if the card deck he was using wasn’t themed with various K-pop boy bands. 

 

Just as he resigned himself to staring at the ceiling and attempting to corral his rogue thoughts, a knock at the door caught his attention. When Jesse made no move to get up, Genji turned with a raised eyebrow. Left with little to no options, Jesse rolled out of his bunk and trudged towards the door. 

 

The sight that greeted him made it more than worth it. 

 

Hanzo had gone all out, truly. His hair was put up in a little bun that showed off his undercut and framed his face  _ just  _ right, flaunting his sharp cheekbones and the enticing curve of his lips. He’d also put in his bridge and ear piercings--nothing fancy, just simple silver studs, but boy did it work for Hanzo. And as if that wasn’t enough, the whole ensemble was completed by the most tight-fitting jean jacket Jesse’d ever seen. Hell, he’d seen the man naked and still those shoulders had never looked better. He also noted, with some amusement, the various patches dotted along the jacket, his favorite of which read “How  **dare** you presume I’m heterosexual?”

 

It was only after Hanzo cleared his throat with a sheepish smile that Jesse realized he had been staring and saying absolutely  _ nothing _ for about five minutes now. 

 

Luckily, Jesse recovered quickly; he picked his jaw up off the floor just long enough to crack a wicked grin and tipped his hat. “Howdy. Damn. Y’look like hell on wheels, darlin’.” 

 

Hanzo responded with a snort, crossing his arms and creasing that gorgeous jacket. “A fine greeting. Unfortunately, I am in too pleasant of a mood to hear your thoughts at length. Shall we go?”

 

Jesse did a quick double check of his person (keys, wallet, the most punk outfit he could find that still paired with his spurs) and nodded. “Sure thing, sugarplum.” He felt his nerves creeping up his throat again, but did his best to shove them back down as he turned back to Genji. “We’re leavin’! See you in a bit, Genj!”

 

“Have fun!” Genji called out from his spot on the bed, eyes once again glued to his game. “Stay in school! Eat your vegetables! Use protection!”

 

Hanzo grabbed Jesse’s wrist and forcefully yanked him out of the room at that point, the door clicking shut just in time to muffle Genji’s raucous laughter. Jesse shook his head and followed his boyfriend forward, taking a moment to appreciate the patch adorning the back of Hanzo’s jacket that read “BADASS BABE” in looping red letters (as well as the defined shoulder blades just underneath). Hanzo said nothing about his staring, but the confident smirk on his face spoke volumes. 

 

They hit the bus stop just in time, surprisingly. It was a cold day in hell when a bus didn’t run late around here, but Jesse just chalked it up to the apparent insistence the universe held at his death coming early. They boarded and scanned their student IDs to pay before settling into the scratchy green seats at the back. Hanzo reached for Jesse’s hand without hesitation and interlaced their fingers, squeezing tightly. Maybe he did realize how nervous Jesse was after all. 

 

“So, Han.” Jesse fumbled around, knocking their knees together. “Who’s this band again?”

 

Hanzo rolled his eyes. “Hack the Planet. I told you before, but I suppose you weren’t listening. There’s no need to be nervous, I promise, this will be fun.” 

 

“Hack the Planet, huh? Edgy.” 

 

“A little, yes,” Hanzo laughed. “Sombra told me about them. I like their sound though, it’s different.”

 

“Wait, Sombra?” Jesse turned to his boyfriend, eyebrows drawn together. He’d known Sombra for years, but he’d never hung out with both her and Hanzo at the same time. “How the hell d’you know Sombra?”

 

Hanzo tilted his head and hummed. “Oh, she’s my TA for Computer Science. Nice girl, if a bit cheeky.” 

 

Jesse felt his grin grow less nervous. “And why’re you takin’ Comp Sci? Thought you were a math major, hon. Cheatin’ a bit on those algebra books?” 

 

“It’s a requirement, fool. You know where my loyalties lie,” Hanzo said, and there was that grin again, the one that made Jesse’s heart fip and his stomach tie itself in knots. It was unfair, really, just a little flash of teeth and he was whipped _.  _ If Jesse didn’t know better, he’d say Hanzo was a witch. A really attractive, punk witch. 

 

Definitely fucked.

 

They passed the rest of the bus ride with small talk, pleasant questions about how classes and extracurriculars were going. As the end of the quarter approached, Jesse found himself cherishing these moments more and more. With midterms wrapping up and finals around the corner, he and Hanzo had less time to spend together than ever, so even the dingy 44 bus could trick his brain into sentimentality. 

 

It didn’t last forever, though. After what seemed like only a few minutes Hanzo straightened in his seat and glanced over before tugging on the yellow cord hanging above the window. The bright red “STOP REQUESTED” sign lit up in time with Jesse’s sharp intake of breath. 

 

“Fun, Jesse,” Hanzo said, punctuating his words with another reassuring squeeze of Jesse’s hand. “Just relax.”

 

Jesse looked at Hanzo for a moment, searching his face. His expression was earnest, open: no sort of mischievous smile like his brother, or a closed off facade as he tended to wear so often. Just pure, loving, Hanzo Shimada, the man who’d stolen his heart so many months ago. 

 

When Jesse spoke, he felt the words crack through his lips like they were parched, the sound barely audible over the low hum of the bus. “Yeah. I trust you, darlin’.”

 

Even if he didn’t, saying so was worth it for the smile Hanzo gave, satisfied with the answer he’d received. 

 

At their stop, they bid a quick thank you to the driver before hopping off the bus and onto the concrete streets. Hanzo knew the way by heart, with the number of concerts he’d gone to at this particular venue, and led Jesse confidently by the hand. He was thankful for Hanzo’s surety, not only because it brought their chances of getting lost significantly lower, but also because it allowed him to observe his surroundings. 

 

The city was beautiful during the early evening, truly. It came alive in flashing neons and little midnight coffee shops, homely brick buildings interspersed with concrete apartment complexes made colorful by all sorts of flags and decor. The orange glow of streetlights reflected off of Hanzo’s piercings, winking at him as they crossed street to street, almost taunting. 

 

Jesse briefly wondered what he’d look like under the starry desert sky, with nothing but the moon to illuminate their way. He’d have to show him someday, see the wonder he imagined in Hanzo’s eyes in actuality. 

 

For now, though, the dim-lit downtown streets would have to do. The buildings stretched on and on, broken by a few theaters and clubs that Jesse wondered at but knew weren’t their destination. When they did arrive at where they were meant to be, it was quite obvious: the building was small, covert, yet eye-catching at the same time. A large red and black sign that read “The Mongoose” lit up the front in half-dead neon, while a long line of slowly shuffling patrons made their way inside. 

 

They got their tickets at Will Call before making their way inside and immediately over to the bar. Hanzo raised an eyebrow at the raspberry kamikaze Jesse ordered, but made no further commentary. He responded with a shrug; he’d need the liquid luck to get him through the night. 

 

After Jesse had a good buzz going, the two of them wandered out of the enclosed bar area and out to the main floor. It was a small place, as one could guess from the outside: most everyone packed together tightly on the main floor while a select few enjoyed their drinks from the balcony, further from the action but comfortable in the relative security of where they were. Despite the sheer amount of leather and jean apparel adorned with spikes, Jesse found himself comforted by the crowd surrounding them. It reminded him of home, of his teenage days when he really thought he was tough shit. Though even back then, he’d never had a mohawk that could poke someone’s eye out like the guy in front of him now.

 

An uproar of screams drew his attention back to the stage, where the band was now taking their positions. They seemed typical; grungy hair, some dyed some not, undercuts and a general windswept look about them. It was when the lead singer, a girl with bright blue hair gathered into a messy braid, took to the mic that the crowd really hyped up. 

 

“How you guys doin’ tonight?” The singer announced with a grin that practically split her face in half. The crowd responded in kind, hooting and hollering until Jesse’s ears were ringing. Hanzo even joined in with a few excited whoops of his own. “Good? Good. Let’s rock this shit!”

 

On cue, music blasted all around Jesse, shaking the ground and thumping in time with the heartbeat pounding in his ears. The singer’s low, sweet voice glided along the notes of the electric guitar, perfectly in sync. The drums added a backbeat he could feel thump through his chest. 

 

And if the music itself wasn’t distracting enough, the whirlpool of bodies around Jesse certainly was. He barely had time to send a sheepish grin Hanzo’s way before he was whisked off and around, carried unwillingly by the mass of people pushing and shoving him like he was an umbrella in a thunderstorm. He must’ve fallen at least ten times, but right when he thought he was Mufasa staring a wildebeest in the face, a pair of arms would circle around his shoulders and haul him upright, starting the process all over again. He got a face-full of the mohawk from earlier, a fist in his side, and at least three of his toes were broken, not to mention countless other bumps and bruises. 

 

But it was exhilarating. 

 

Like being dragged through a riptide, Jesse found he had no control over what he was doing or where he was going, but it was strangely alright. The crowd around him punched and shoved, and sure it hurt, but his heart was beating like a hammer, surefire and steady _. _ This was a rush he wouldn’t get from midnight coffee runs, or any game of flag football he’d play in the quad. With the stomp of the feet around him and the jeering of the crowd, he simply felt  _ alive. _

 

Of course, like all good things, it had to come to an end. The adrenaline rush only lasts for so long when you’re getting constantly beat down, and Jesse found himself tiring out rather quickly after the first half of the set. The only problem was that, as tempests tend to do, the pit wouldn’t let him go. Each time he tried to escape he’d only be shoved back in by an outsider and tumble back in to repeat the cycle. 

 

A particularly rough shove sent him stumbling back, right into an incredibly familiar, warm chest. Jesse’s breath caught in his throat as he looked up; it was Hanzo, with a righteous fury in his eyes he’d seen precious few times before. He was in front of the guy who’d shoved Jesse in an instant, and within another he’d flipped the guy over his shoulder and onto the ground with a satisfying smack. 

 

Hanzo turned and offered his hand with a smirk. Jesse took the lifeline without hesitation, allowing Hanzo’s warm, calloused hand to pull him out of the hurricane and into the safe, foggy reaches of the sidelines. 

 

They walked hand in hand to the bar section just next to the main floor. Hanzo bought an overpriced water bottle, and they sat on one of the banisters, gazing out at the rolling waves of people from a somewhat safe distance (not too safe, though--they still felt the rumbling of the band’s song beneath them, still breathed the manufactured fog and smoke that circulated the concert hall). 

 

As Hanzo extended the water to Jesse, offering a drink, he glanced over. He’d been staring at Hanzo all night, but right here, right now, was his favorite tableau so far. The pink and purple lights reflected off of the planes of his face, casting him half in light and half in shadow. Fog curled around, reflecting neon into his hair and turning Hanzo into some kind of ethereal spirit. His lips were pursed, eyebrows drawn together in that cute little furrow they did when he was expecting something. The anger from before had fled his eyes, but Jesse could see a spark remaining, a protective streak exhibited in the fist curled tight in his lap or the way his thigh pressed solidly against Jesse’s. 

 

Jesse leaned forward without even thinking about it, without a single thought crossing his mind. A hand to Hanzo’s cheek. Their foreheads knocking together. A firm press of lips, insistent and confident. Hanzo grinned into the kiss and pressed forward, deepening it. Jesse felt a shiver wrack up his spine at the feel of Hanzo’s tongue sliding against his mouth, an electric shock that intensified when he let him in only to feel that damned tongue piercing graze against his teeth. If this was how they felt, Jesse would have to encourage Hanzo to wear the piercings more often from now on. 

 

They parted after what seemed like a decade, both reduced to panting. Jesse offered a smile and knocked their foreheads together again, a laugh coming to his lips unbidden. 

 

“Shit, sweetheart. Just...shit.” He giggled again and reached down to intertwine their fingers. Hanzo complied easily and grinned back, though his eyes were softer now, more adoring than challenging. “You know how to make a fella feel.” 

 

“I would say the same for you, Jesse,” Hanzo said. “Thank you for coming with me tonight. Really, I appreciate it.” 

 

Jesse shook his head. “I’d go to hell and back to make you happy darlin’, you know that. Though I dunno if I’d quite classify that typhoon over yonder as hell, I’ll dive right on back in if you’d like.” 

 

“Oh please, don’t,” Hanzo laughed, bringing a hand up to Jesse’s cheek. “I can only save you so many times before we both get thrown out. And I  _ do  _ still like this band.” He caressed the side of Jesse’s face gingerly, as though if he applied too much pressure it’d bruise. Likely, it would, considering how much Jesse was tossed around in the past hour. 

 

“Whatever you say, sugarplum. Though I can’t say the idea of my punk rock boyfriend judo-flipping random guys to protect me is something I wouldn’t wanna see more of.”

 

“Jesse!” 

 

“What? It was hot as hell, I can’t lie.” 

 

Hanzo smacked his arm, but Jesse merely laughed again. If he kept this up he’d be covered in black and blue by morning, but hell if it wasn’t worth it for that smile. 

 

Plus, he could always get Hanzo to kiss it better. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This fic was 10000% inspired by, and really a thinly veiled reference to, [King's Row Calling](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9364847/chapters/21200891), an AMAZING punk fic by my ever lovely beta [Mango](http://archiveofourown.org/users/malevolentmango/pseuds/malevolentmango)! It's an incredible fic, highly recommend. 
> 
> The title of this one comes from the song Weatherman by Dead Sara, which I listened to about a million times while writing this. Again, Mango's fault. Go read her fics and yell at her for being perfect. 
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](http://schrodingerslion.tumblr.com/)! I love chatting with people, and I currently have ['requests'](http://schrodingerslion.tumblr.com/commissions) open!
> 
> Have a good one guys! Enjoy the summer, concerts or no. I recommend concerts though, they're always a good time ;0


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